War Front
by Kitsune Swift
Summary: Rewritten entirely. Multiple cast members. "There are many different view points of war. From the commander, to the common foot soldier, to the enemy lines, to the "home base". Each war has its story, and the Cybertronian war effort is no different."
1. Flight of the Wartorn Part 1

Iacon glittered this night. Rare light showed through the inky, smokey air at random intervals. Even in ruin and at war, the capital was a majestic sight to behold. This night, not even the ever constant, albeit, distant at present, sounds of war could prevail, leaving a peaceful calm over those still within the city limits.

Optimus Prime smiled sadly, hidden behind his battle mask. This was not a sight he'd ever believed to have taken for granted. Not war torn Cybertronian architecture. But this? He would miss the grand silver/white spires of his home, broken and faded as they were now. Even the sounds. He could hear, even now, the low hum of life in the city he surveyed.

But he would miss the bots left behind, the most.

"Rather quiet, Optimus." The leader turned to face the white bot. Ratchet didn't look at him, opting instead to look out on the same scene Optimus had viewed moments before. Ratchet had a certain tenseness to his stance. "Is everything ready?"

The red and blue Autobot nodded, turning back to the city. "Yes. Preparations have been completed on schedule." A flier streaked by, right on time for border patrol. It was light enough to see the almost ethereal color of glowing teal on the broad wings. Optimus nor Ratchet knew the bot's name, but they recognized him. Almost every cycle, the flier took a patrol around the city.

Ratchet hummed, watching the dance of the flier as he spun around spires, twisting and turning in a show of acrobatics. "Then what is it that weighs on you?" The question brought the Prime's attention to the Medic once more.

He vented a burst of air, silent to most, but he knew that Ratchet easily heard it, and the Medic shifted into a softer stance. He stayed silent for a while. But Ratchet was waiting for something, and was stubborn enough to wait for possibly ever to achieve his goal. "We will be leaving shortly." And despite everything, his voice seemed to reveal everything to Ratchet, as the shorter silvery mech shifted once more, and closed his optics with an expression of anguish that mirrored what Prime felt deep inside. And, unbidden, he asked so very quietly, "What changed?"

They would be leaving. Appearing to flee the planet. More war and death would still come. They were prepared to deal with that idea. Leaving wouldn't end the war. It was never meant to. It was likely that Megatron would conquer Cybertron. It was just as likely that his rivalry would instead push him to follow Optimus through the stars, effectively moving the front lines from their war torn planet.

Ratchet hummed low in his chassis. "Everything. And yet, nothing at all." The words were perplexing, and Optimus sat a touch straighter, looking out still upon Iacon. The Medic shook his helm, turning to the Prime, turquoise optics meeting the Prime's own indigo lit ones. "Cybertron needs this mission." Something everyone agreed on. No one was particularly fond of the idea, but all understood the importance. "The probability of success is minimal, as Prowl has pointed out previous. But the needs far outweigh the risks."

"Those left behind will have a more difficult fight." The leader didn't break his stoic bearing. Inside, however, he acknowledged to feeling grim and hopeless. Here, in Iacon and all over Cybertron, his Autobot army worked like a family. An arrangement that had worked well against the Decepticon onslaught from the moment war was upon them. And in this one decision, he had ensured that select few would be cast off from the rest. They would be leaving friends and battle brothers and family behind.

"They're strong, Optimus. They'll overcome whatever comes their way." Ratchet had been rather unreadable on this subject since Optimus had suggested it during a briefing some cycles previous. In fact, of the mechs who'd been present, one had agreed wholeheartedly, two had been unreadable, and the rest had dug in their collective heel on the subject, none wanting to send anyone off into the black.

The Prime knew what was thought of the whole idea. He had split up the top command structure for this juncture. Had separated well working teams. Each mech chosen for the mission would be bringing a well needed element to the dynamic carefully constructed. He would be taking the best he could afford to split from the remainder. But it left the Autobots here with a sudden handicap. It was a cause of dissention among many. It would thrust untrained mechs into open positions on both sides in the middle of a potentially disastrous situation.

"Optimus, I won't deny that I don't particularly agree with the methods we will be observing." Dark blue optics swiveled back at to the Medic, who crossed his arms. It was the first time the leader could remember Ratchet even partially disagreeing with his plans. "But we must have faith in those left here. They are no pushovers."

"And I have full faith in every bot under my command," he said with conviction.

Ratchet nodded, having known that from the start. "I won't deny that some of us would be of better use here on Cybertron. But, Optimus, we trust your judgement. Each of us were not forced into our current positions. We agreed and volunteered for the chance to better assist our people and our planet."

They stared out at the city in silence a while. The flier they'd been watching, long gone by now. The sounds of life, normally covered by the now absent sound of weapons fire and war, reached their audials and they simply listened to the sound of laughter and conversation wafting up to them. When Optimus stood, he did so slowly and turned to face his oldest friend. "Thank you, Ratchet." The silvery white mech nodded with a hidden smile, turning with him for the way they'd originally come to get here.

When they stepped down the small staircase that led up to the roof, they could more easily hear the sounds of the base. Voices from further down the corridor they currently walked through were a tad surprising. It was rare for anybot to use this particular route. "Bumblebee!" a voice exclaimed from not far ahead, drawing their immediate attention, the Medic venting in exasperation. Bumblebee was a well trained Autobot with a good battle sense and was very good at what he did. But he was still a youngling.

Optimus' hand went to Ratchet's shoulder armor, earning a look from his CMO, even as Optimus himself was laughing inwardly. "Bumblebee is enthusiastic. Perhaps we should move to the wall." Not a moment after vacating the center of the hallway, a black and yellow blur fled past, heading for the roof the officers had previously enjoyed silence upon. Before either of them could move from their safe spot, a dark blue blur followed at almost the same speed. Ratchet grumbled after them. "Younglings."

"Let them be," Optimus soothed, continuing his path down the hallway. Ratchet spared one more look toward the roof access before following after the Prime. He was off duty. He would follow Optimus until his leader signaled his leave.

They twisted and turned through the base, earning hellos and salutes from those they passed. Optimus led them both through the base without much of a sound, and Ratchet followed just as quietly. When the Prime stopped before a very familiar doorway, they both simply stared at it. The Officer's Lounge. It wasn't normally closed. But it was currently. In truth, it had been for several cycles. Ever since the bombshell of this mission had been dropped and names disclosed.

They entered the lounge with somber expressions to match the feeling that hit them. If ever there was any question about what was being asked of any of them, the answer could be seen, plain as day, here and now.

The large room had never been strictly one thing or another. It was labeled "Officers Only", but the door had only ever been shut once or twice. Normal soldiers had always graced the Lounge except in those few times. Now was one of those occurrences where only Officers inhabited the room. Another strange thing, was that it was never, ever, silent. It was, now. Normally, laughter or music of some genre, or conversation or even anger/frustration, filled the air in here.

No one moved when they both entered completely, door sliding shut behind them with a slight squeal from disuse. This wasn't an official meeting. In fact, the majority of those currently present, were supposed to be on shift. It was a fact that was very obviously over looked this one time. This last time they'd all be able to see each other before the launching of the ARK and her crew.

All optics were downcast, caught in a never ending moment of silence. None of them seemed to know what to say. Not even Jazz, known for his ability to make even the most depressed, hopeless mech, smile. It wasn't what Ratchet or Optimus had truly expected to walk into, and yet, in hindsight, it made more sense that it should be. This was a side of the Officers that none had expected, nor seen previous. It was a striking image that each and every one of them felt.

Red Alert was isolated in his usual corner, grimfaced. Blaster was frowning at his hands, sitting beside Ironhide, who was as grumpy as he ever was only with a touch of an unknown emotion that only select few could identity. Freefall, their would be pilot, stood blank faced not far from the black and red tinged mech.

Jazz was probably the hardest to look at. Perched on the counter that graced the energon dispenser wall, with his back resting against it, knees drawn up and arms encircling them, his right side looked to brush lightly against Prowl's, who stood beside the saboteur with drooped wings. Prime's Second in Command was as stoic as he ever was, but the closeness to Jazz suggested his true feelings on the coming situation. Even Kup was somber, intensely dark optics narrowed as he seemed to stare into nothingness in the direction of the exit.

Firewall sat on the floor, Gage and Tryp on either side, almost holding hands. Maverick's optics were shut, and he held a similar pose to Jazz situated in the back corner, barely seen beside Whiplash and Klipper due to Scanner, Trim, Nightfright and Skylight standing around them with arms crossed and helms down.

They all simply basked in each other's presence.


	2. Flight of the Wartorn part 2

All twenty mechs were onboard the ARK, roaming the halls and going about their newfound duties before takeoff. Select few additional mechs who were to stay behind in Iacon, performed last minute checks and diagnostics, conversing back and forth with the Command Center and the mechs there. A sense of urgency settled deep into the tanks of all who were involved.

Blue and red walked side by side with white and black. The Prime and his second were always a sight to see. Regal bearing, stoic, strong. But no one paid them attention as they walked through the corridor this time. In this moment, the mechs were all too deeply focused on their given tasks.

Prime stopped before a door. This would be where they would part. He stared down at the mech at his side. Prowl stared quietly at the door before them, icy blue visor dim, even in the somewhat darkness of the powered down ship. "Thank you," the leader said, expression soft even as it was hidden behind his mask. Prowl glanced up at him. "Thank you for everything." It seemed not enough, a simple thank you.

Prowl gave a small, but powerful smile. "You will be sorely missed, Optimus." He turned, wings fanning a touch before returning to a rigid position, and he crossed his arms, staring back the way they'd come. The Prime turned as well, taking in the same view. They watched a shiny reddish brown mech by the name of XL hurry past; holding some trinket that looked like it belonged to Med Bay.

"It is needed. If we can detract the war to a different playing field, it will be all the better for those left behind." Even spoken by Optimus Prime, the words seemed lackluster and forced. But Prowl nodded nonetheless, having known the words were still true.

"I agree. It was not my intention to second guess the mission. You have heard my views. Heard everyone's views, and you made a wise choice." The smile his 2iC had displayed faded whimsically. "Regardless. The mechs in this army will lose hope with your parting. In these dark hours, they would look to you for hope."

"They will look to you in my stead," the larger mech replied, continuing to stare ahead, almost to the point of unseeing. The words spoken by Prowl now were identical to the ones spoken not a cycle before by Ironhide. Ironhide had said them with characteristic fire. Prowl said them now in a manner of cool acceptance. Everything Optimus had said with Ironhide seemed a moot point now in front of Prowl.

Prowl hummed. "I am not the icon our people need." He was well trusted on and off the field to bring mechs home as safe as possible. Mechs who had never met the former Enforcer still entrusted their lives to him. "I am not Optimus Prime," he said softly. "They will follow me. But they will lose faith without you. All of you." He turned to face him directly.

"I do not doubt the intent of the mission. Indeed, I understand its importance, and I support it entirely, as I have from the beginning." His visor was no longer dim. It was back to its normal luster, bright and intense. But his helm shade covered it as Prowl looked down, giving an odd appearance to a mech who normally stood so unshaken. "This mission will take an indefinite amount of time," he almost whispered it. "Please do whatever you can to return quickly and as safe as possible." He shifted upright once more, seeming to revert back to his normal stoic self, a strange image given his stance all cycle. "Sir. Safe journey."

Prowl snapped a quick salute before making his way down the ship's corridor, heading for the loading ramp and then to the Command Center. Optimus watched him fade from view, suddenly feeling the entire weight of the situation he'd created with this mission. When and if the ARK ever returned, they would find that brothers in arms did not survive against the Decepticons. He truly wished that Prowl would still be standing strong should he return.

"You staying here in the hall, OP?" Jazz's voice held the familiar spark of enthusiasm as he appeared in the doorway Prime stood before. "We're about ready on the Bridge. Flight Control's starting to clear Airspace with typical Blaster fashion." Jazz didn't look quite as ready as he sounded. At least, not to mechs who knew him better. There as a slight frown at the corner of his mouth, and a hunch of defense in his stance.

Optimus was suddenly struck by the complete realization that the smaller, silver mech, was his Second in Command from this moment forward. Jazz had yet to comment on the matter to him. And Optimus himself wasn't entirely sure how he himself felt with the promotion. "I am on my way," he said with a nod at him. There was a flash of nervous tension in Jazz's frame, even as he beamed at the leader, confirming Optimus' suspicions.

Nevertheless, what was done, was done. They turned and entered the Bridge. It was a flurry of activity. With the exception of the bullet silver and frosty blue colored mech called Freefall, the ARK's pilot, everyone was running through console preflight checks. Sounds of system start ups were belling off at random, Teletran confirming activations of subroutines, databases and the like. Few optics looked away from their screens to acknowledge the Prime and his Second as they moved to the Commanders' Chairs.

The activity came to a halt when a voice came over the speakers. "ARK, if you're ready, you are clear for lift off." All helms swiveled to Optimus and Jazz, both of whom stared blankly at the view screen. They could see Iacon in all of her smoking glory in the fiery backset of the sunrise. Both shared a look, and Jazz gave an imperceptible shrug, prompting a slow nod of ascent from the Prime.

"ARK is ready," he stated after staring at all of the optics around them, each repeating his nod to signal they were a go. As he spoke, the upper corner of the view screen flickered, the Command Center coming up with clarity, as if they were all in the room itself. Prowl stood in the position of the Prime, hands resting above the main console. Everyone in the room had stopped for a moment to look at the screen. "Commander, we are ready," Optimus said.

"Affirmative," the black and white replied, typing something into the console. The red chevron almost glowed with the same might of his blue visor. "You are clear for launch." Every mech, be them onboard the ARK or within the Command Center, each turned in unison to their assigned duties.

"Freefall," Optimus said the name slowly. "Take us up." On his command, the ship shuddered, screens all over the Bridge coming online in that moment as they broke from Auxiliary to Primary Power. They could feel the power behind the ARK as she moved forward, breaking away from the docking station she'd been hidden within for so very long. Freefall grinned as he tested the maneuverability of the ship.

They watched the scenery outside spin, a few mechs turning glares upon the pilot, even though they couldn't feel the adverse affects due to inertial dampeners. Jazz let out a loud "Yeeha!" at random, mimicked by two other mechs after a moment and earning snickers from the Command Center. Even Prowl let a small grin loose, much to the surprise of most.

Internal comms blared just as they corrected their heading. "Sir! Decepticons on the move!" At the end of the sentence, as everyone tensed, Teletran displayed the Decepticon movement on an overview map just under the Command Center's icon.

Prowl calmly followed up with an even, "Autobots, code red." In the Command Center, a flash of red momentarily bathed the mechs, and everybot on screen went into battle mode. "Team Front Siren, they are enroute to your position."

"Understood. Moving to intercept," the voice was almost unheard from the Command Center's consoles, and held a hard edge. Teletran flickered and displayed the Autobot counter attack. Jazz hummed in aggravation. ARK was fast, but it would take a bit to gain the necessary speed to leave Cybertron's orbit. The same voice bled over, "Seekers spotted incoming!" Additional dots appeared on screen, moving far faster in the direction of the ARK's heading.

"Team Storm, intercept at will," Prowl relayed calmly. A sharp acknowledge filtered over, and more Autobot's graced the overview map, these ones moving with the speed of fliers. Prowl looked through the screens at Optimus. "Prime, recommending you alter your route."

Optimus nodded slightly even as more Decepticons appeared on screen. "Agreed. Freefall, alter current heading to route T5 Preset." The ship, still gaining momentum, shifted in a sweeping turn that narrowly avoided a collision with a spire. Even as they moved to avoid confrontation, even more Decepticons appeared, and the sounds of weapons fire bled over the Command Center's channels.

"We have more Seekers incoming!" A different voice came through, sounding quite strained. "What is-?"

Prowl's stance shifted in a way that had everyone, Command Center and ARK mechs alike, stiffening on reflex, half expecting something to either blow up or weapons fire. "Decepticon Warship Nemesis on screen on your approach!" Voices of disbelief sprang forth from all over, the feedback nearly damaging, even as Teletran displayed the feed, forwarded through Command Center, on the top left of the view screen. The dark ship was unmistakably the Nemesis.

The feeling of stun permeated the Bridge. Nemesis hadn't been seen since the very start of the war. It had been reported as Destroyed in Action, unrecoverable and unsalvageable, deep in the Sea of Rust. But that was most certainly the Decepticon flagship, coming right for them. "Any indication of Megatron onboard?" Optimus asked, uncharacteristically snappish. He had hoped Megatron would follow him off world… but it was too soon. The ARK wouldn't stand up against the Nemesis in either speed or firepower. Especially not if Megatron were at their thrusters.

Gent, the large, charcoal colored mech at the Comms Hub, was furiously typing away at his screens, additional voices of his team filtering through the internal systems from further down the hallway as they ran through what sounded like a load of gibberish to most on the Bridge. He looked at Jazz first, then at Optimus, a perplexed look upon his features. "There's no indication of Megatron. Nor that what we are seeing is Warship Nemesis."

Back in the Command Center, Prowl was conversing quickly with his new head of Decryptions. Running through exactly what Gent and his team had run through themselves. When Prowl turned back to face the ARK's crew, his wings were held high and stiff. "Sir, there are no communiqué between the Decepticons and the ship. Chatter even suggests that the Decepticons are as surprised as we are to see it." He listened to a voice from off screen with a slight tilt to his helm. "Weapons are active, sir."

"Freefall, evasive maneuvers and fly at will. Get us off world and out of Megatron's sights." It was Jazz who gave the order, rigid in his seat. Optimus agreed without words, and Freefall gave a single, stiff nod. The ARK corkscrewed, spinning around another spire as they gained altitude and turned off of the course the T5 would have had them take. Seekers who had snuck up on them were forced to scatter as the ship nearly bowled into them.

Ironhide revved, low and threatening, coating his accent with a thicker layer, "Weapons enabled and primed, awaiting command." The black and red trimmed mech glared at the view screen a moment before searching the commanders. Both Jazz and Prime ascent in unison, Jazz flashing a thumbs up and Optimus repeating his stoic nod. Ironhide turned back to his console and tapped the screen. A flash of red and a single ring of a Klaxon erupted before the ARK's screens took on a red tinge and shifted everything into Battle Layouts.

Freefall grunted, pulling hard on his controls as Nemesis blocked the path he'd been taking, forcing him to spin away and regain altitude. Still, despite his piloting, one of the wings of the dark ship scraped along the hull, vibrations sending those who'd been standing at their stations to the floor. Teletran blipped in warning. The words "Go" and "Fly" were spoken by mechs from all over, repeated in fast succession. "Hang on to something!" he exclaimed before mumbling, "It's about to get bumpy," just loud enough for those nearest him to hear.

There was an attention grabbing blip or green from the Command Center. "Commander! Cons are infiltrating the perimeter!" the voice, while faint through the comms, was easily heard by all. And all visible mechs turned grim expressions on each other.

Simultaneously, Freefall shouted, "Leaving atmosphere! I'm serious, hold on!" The ARK groaned around them, heaving upward through the sky, fighting Cybertron's gravity for freedom.

"Seekers are breaking off," Ironhide stated. "Can't stand up to our firepower and speed." He frowned at Nemesis. "However, that darn flagship o' Megatron's is going to be a problem." More voices sounded over the comm. lines, covered in the sounds of war, even as the older mech spoke.

Optimus narrowed his optics. "Someone find a weak spot in that armor," he ordered. Nemesis had been sacked once. It could be again. Freefall broke the ship free of orbit, the blackness of space opening up before them. "Prowl, we have exited the atmosphere."

Prowl glanced back at the view screen with a subtle acknowledge. "You are closest to Space Station RION. They will cover you as best they can." Three, four mechs hurried around the black and white mech as he spoke.

"Affirmative, ARK. Lead your shadow our way and we'll take care of it," the voice was rougher than Ironhide's. Freefall didn't need a confirmation order, as he followed to where Teletran indicated the Space Station, making sure to be well within RION's limited weapons range.

Space Station RION had once been a simple observatory with a fine, deep space lens used for scouting for new worlds with life or resources. Now, it was a strategic position, once held by Decepticons until Autobots had finally been able to storm it. Restored under the Cons with an impressive array of weaponry, RION would be a valuable asset at current, though it hadn't been expected, due to the initial planned courses. RION had still been briefed and standing by.

So it was that the moment the ARK led Nemesis within range, the station fired everything they had at the enemy ship. When multiple vollies shot from random areas from outside of the station, Jazz and Optimus exchanged concealed looks of surprise before turning to Prowl, who, despite his tense demeanor, looked somewhat relieved and smug. "Impressive plannin', Prowler." Even Optimus gave a small smile, which grew bigger as Nemesis was forced to break off at the onslaught.

"I was not entirely certain that would be ready. I commend those of RION for their speed and efficiency." Prowl gave that almost smile that he was well known for among the higher officers.

"As do I," Prime said loudly. A cheer went up through the Bridge. If it was mirrored over the comm. lines, the ARK crew wasn't aware. That Nemesis had turned away, confirming that Megatron had not been onboard. A small mercy. "Well done, and thank you, RION." A joyous response went up through RION's comms. Everyone grinned or smiled at the sheer exuberance. Up until a loud shout sounded from Iacon, drawing everyone's attention once more.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. They all turned at the sound of the shout, even those in the Command Center, the mechs there all stiffening and going into battle ready stance in agonizingly slow motion. Prowl hunched out of instinct, turning to his console and typing into it instead of onlining his own weaponry. But it was obvious that the shout had been too late.

A blast, far more powerful than run of the mill soldiers, had already been fired, along with two others. It struck before anyone could really react. A grunt sounded, and everyone on the bridge, as well as those in the Command Center, watched, helpless as Prowl fell, another shot hitting him hard on what looked like his shoulder armor. The final shot flew through where he'd been standing a moment later, striking the visual feed and turning the ARK's link with Iacon black with errors. Audio still filtered through, Iaconian mechs shouting battle orders back and forth over the sounds of blasters and explosions.

"Blasted Cons…" Ironhide breathed, the only one to speak. "I'll dismantle 'em!"

"Maintain heading, Freefall." Optimus' order was deadly sounding. His optics were narrowed in a dangerous glare, staring at the black portion of the view screen. He inwardly cringed at the sound of the battle, and fought to keep his resolve. They could not turn back now.

-"Block him, block him!"-  
-"Frag!"-  
-"arlight, no!"-

The transmission cut out with an audial shattering squeal, making everyone flinch. "We've just condemned those left behind to termination," someone said, hardly above a whisper. No one had the spark to deny the truth behind it, as they flew on, away from the planet and into the vacuum of space, comms completely devoid of transmission.

_**S/N: Originally, Part 1 was going to be a part of this. I split it up, mostly because it was a touch easier. Hope you enjoyed it. It was certainly fun to write.**_


	3. Moving Forward

Cybertron had glittered.

He remembered the buildings of various city-states before they'd gone to ruin and disrepair. They made for an impressive sight. Each city-state with its own unique styles and history and culture…

But he'd never really been the type to sit still long enough to really appreciate them. And by the time he realized he needed to slow down and just _look_, everything around him had been nothing but ruin and smoldering remains. Nothing was the same as it had been before.

Now though, he knew things would probably never be the same ever again. He'd held on to hope that things would get better given time. He'd managed to keep everyone else's hopes up in the same fashion he'd always been good at. But now, as he stared out at the emptiness of space from his new "home", he wondered what good it would do.

Cybertron had hit critical some time ago. It had needed help long before Optimus Prime had come up with this haphazard plan, and they'd all known it… had ignored it in favor of the Great War. The planet was only barely livable now. It wasn't very stable.

What was worse in his eyes… even if this adventure was successful, they didn't encounter Decepticon forces, and they returned home, there was no guarantee the Planet would survive. In fact, there was little to really be done about Cybertron. There would be no grand revival. Those left behind, he knew, would be forced to leave at some point.

It just seemed that the ARK and her mission would be the first of the exodus.

Jazz shook himself. Hard. He glared out at the stars a moment before his expression faded. Had he truly given up hope? One small set back he'd been unable to avert, and he gave up? His systems gave a small hiccup, and he felt weak as he leaned against the plating of the ship around him.

One small set back. Was that what he'd refer to that as forever more? A set back? It hadn't been. Not on their side of things. It was no set back in the moving forward of their mission. They would be able to continue, and they would look for resources they and their people desperately needed.

"-_This is the ARK calling any Autobot able to answer_.-"

The line was replaying over every Autobot comm. frequency. He could hear it, even now. He wasn't terribly far from the Bridge. The waves pinged on his internal comm. line. It had been going for cycles. Ever since they'd lost contact with Iacon in that one moment. They weren't out of range. Not with the old satellites hovering here and there. There was just no reply. From Bot or Con.

His frame shook, despite his attempts to quell the feeling. This was not how this mission was supposed to go. Not at all.

He pushed himself upright, one hand remaining on the wall more out of instinct, and began toward… anywhere but here, facing the emptiness of space from some random corridor of the ship. His peds led him where they would. He didn't really care, much. Had things always felt so out of place? He couldn't really tell.

He missed the openness of Cybertron. This ship was so confined. He couldn't just go, feel the wind on his armor as he drifted through various places without really knowing or caring where he was. He couldn't find some high up perch and balance along the drift ways. He was stuck within a structure smaller than even the Autobot base in Iacon itself had been.

He wasn't really certain he wanted to see anyone. But he realized where he'd ended up a moment too late to correct his course. He was thankful when no one seemed to notice his entry, nor his movement to an open seat.

The sound of the never-ending transmission was stronger in here. Someone had jacked into the internal comm. lines and were playing them aloud for all to hear. It was, truthfully, the only noise made in the large, orange, octagonal room they had all dubbed the "Rec Room" before takeoff. Looking around, the silver white mech vented quietly, frowning. Listening to empty radio static was just going to make the whole thing worse.

It actually took a moment to realize what he himself was doing.

There wasn't a hard beat. Such a thing, while he normally favored, would have turned every mech who heard it upon him in varying forms of upset. Besides. He was far more tasteful than that. Instead, soft, deep notes with a slow melody rang out. He made sure it stayed _piano_, testing the atmosphere. Two mechs looked over at him from opposing sides of the room.

The bulky sage green mech called Bulkhead sat with a hunch at his shoulders. Still, his large, light blue optics were soft, and he gave a wistful smile. Ripa, a small femme build with yellow accents on a dark plum plating, glanced around with interest in her same yellow optics, a touch of life lighting them.

Promising. Jazz smiled, amping the music louder. He could still hear Optimus' call, attempting for some form of response. That wouldn't due. They were already grieving enough. The image of Iacon Command was not one that would leave any of their collective memories anytime soon.

He wasn't sure who the first voice belonged to as they hummed to the traditional lament. Everyone in the Rec Room could hear the emotion in that first strand, and it opened the gate. Another voice joined in, maintaining a harmony with the first. And another, adding a spectacular staccato. A low voice joined in, creating a chord between the others as another followed that one's lead, only an octave higher. The power and emotion and diversity only added to the beauty of the sound.

Jazz's smile grew more vibrant.

One or two helms were downcast. Three or four sets of optics were visibly fogged with fluids. Mechs on the outer edges seemed to unconsciously move closer to those on the inner side. Holo-images began appearing around them all. Those left behind, or even long departed.

Tiny trills began to fill the room. Optics swept over faces they would in all likely hood, never see again, and the song grew louder without prompt. Even Jazz's voice entered the fray, moisture forming beneath his visor even as he felt the pressure of mourning upon his spark.

When the song ended, the room went quieter than before. The transmission no longer played. The ghostly images winked out of existence one by one. The lingering sensation of what had just transpired was nearly overwhelming. The memories of their flight from Iacon replayed, though not quite as bitterly.

"I'm gonna miss 'em," Jazz said, just at a whisper. He wouldn't have been able to hold the words back, even had he wanted to. A soft keen echoed from somewhere else, and suddenly, there were words. The mechs around him began to talk, watery smiles, tears and downcast expressions no longer hindering the soft conversations.

He listened to the stories, the memories and the voices. He overheard various hopes, fears, dreams and nightmares. What ifs and maybes overcame them, in good and not so good form. Vows of revenge and assistance were always quick to follow.

All he could do, was listen and keep his hope.

_**S/N: Not very long, but that's alright. This was almost depressing to write.**_


	4. Reporting In

The Control Room was silent. Very few mechs were assigned here, and they were diligently working on their own consoles, not daring to look away from their tasks or speak outside of absolute minimum. None of them wanted to bring attention to themselves. Other bases were sure to be more rowdy and full of curses and infighting at this moment. This one was very reserved.

Megatron was an imposing figure. Even if he stood at ease, staring at the View Screen, claws crossed harmlessly behind his back. Yes indeed, even the most aggressive of mechs on this base were known to tip-toe around the Decepticon Lord.

The silver and purple accented mech wasn't looking at any particular thing, aside from the tiny image of Kao as it should be. When he finally quashed the pitiful, rebellious Autobots, Kaon would be made into the glorious City-State it was meant to be. A vision that was all but impossible with the political drivel that had existed pre-war.

A shuffling step. His optics swung over his shoulder armor, remaining facing the View Screen. "Report," he commanded sharply. He didn't recognize the step pattern, nor what he could make out of the soldier that took a knee before him. He didn't appreciate unannounced visits.

"My lord," the voice sounded fairly young and inexperienced in the workings of the world. It shook with the slightest fear, even as he heard a rich undertone of confidence. "My lord," he tried again. "The Nemesis has returned." There was a falter. A hitch in the mech's systems. "They regrettably report that the entire attack was unsuccessful."

"I don't believe my audials are functioning properly," Megatron forced the growl to remain deep in his chassis. "I thought I heard you just utter the word, "Unsuccessful". That does not seem possible." His claws slid over themselves, drawing attention to the dangerously sharp points.

The mech, neon green highlights on matt black plating, didn't attempt to hide his sudden trembling. The confidence in the younger's tone seemed to have fled. "I… I did, gracious Lord Megatron." The leader turned, slowly, fixating vibrant white-tinged red optics on the form before him. All resolve seemed to crumble. "I'm sorry, my lord! The Autobots launched a ship of their own, and their ground forces were not nearly as defenseless as Commander Lark had anticipated!"

Various optics from all over the Command Room were unabashedly focused on the groveling youngling. They were all still just as silent as before. "And just where is this, Commander Lark?" he asked it rather conversationally, startling the young Decepticon. "To busy to make his report to me, that he sent a peon?" Commander Lark would assuredly not hold his rank past this meeting. "How is it possible that the Autobots, cornered in Iacon, could overcome concentrated efforts on their very base?"

"I… I…" was the stuttered reply. "I don't know."

Megatron's optics narrowed. There was no sign of battle damage, nor medical treatments. His armor was flawless, shiny even. There were no healed or healing scars, nor even a tiny scratch, upon this one. "Were you even involved in this attack?"

"I… No, my lord."

"Dismissed." Megatron spun back his view screen, shoulders tense and hands clenched at his side. "Soundwave! Contact Commander Lark. Inform him that he'd better come to me personally within the next few klicks." There was no audible acknowledge. There didn't need to be. Not from Soundwave, who stood at his console, the only one to have not looked on with the rest of the room.

The View Screen seemed to come to life, information suddenly scrolling through his vision. Truthfully, he was a bit disappointed when the sound of hurried steps reached him a dozen klicks later. "Ah. Commander Lark. Report." He didn't hide his annoyance.

There was more hesitation. "Ltn. Scrapper, my lord. Commander Lark was struck down in the confrontation at Iacon." There was surprise in his tone, as well as some others that Megatron didn't focus on too closely.

"Is that so?" He hated surprises. And this orn seemed to be filled with them. "And why, pray tell, are you the one in my presence? Are you Lark's First Officer?" His patience was wearing thin, and he glared at the mech, directly into his own optics.

Scrapper paused to gather his wits. "First Officer Vit was felled in battle as well, my Lord. I was next in the Command chain, and upon arrival, hurried to your presence for debrief." He squared his tan colored shoulders, raising his helm.

"Really?" Megatron drawled the word. "Then by all mean, explain the occurrences at Iacon in completion." He halted the mech from beginning, however, with a raised claw. "Submit to me personally, your After Action Report. You have three joors."

The mech all but scurried out, all sense of bravado vanishing. Megatron swung faster than anyone had been expecting, accompanied by a furious snarl. He stalked away, leaving more than half of the Control Room quivering and a destroyed desk and console smoldering, in his wake.

_**S/N : This one is more of a short filler chapter. But it was still fairly fun to write.**_


	5. Giving Chase

He scoffed, glaring at the view screen before him.

Megatron had deemed it necessary to track down the ARK so that it could be destroyed. A sound idea, if not for the fact that the ARK hadn't been seen since Iacon several orns previous. And here he was, Starscream, Second in Command to Megatron and Commander of the Air Division, weighed down by a ground crew on a slow ship, not even accompanied by his normal team and flight mates. It was enough to seriously aggravate him.

His wings twitched in annoyance, and he could feel the curious stares of those under his current command. This would take too long if they didn't get a lead.

The ship was no longer in Iacon, suggesting that the Autobots had it docked in one of their other hiding places somewhere on the planet. Since no one seemed able to tell where the ARK had been seen last during the failed invasion, the Decepticons in charge of destroying the ship were left with nothing. He growled in frustration, reviewing the data before him one last time.

And promptly paused when he realized exactly what he'd been needing had been in front of him the entire time.

The ARK had already been airborne when Seekers and the Nemesis had arrived on scene. In fact, he grinned, it had been quite a ways from its port when it had been spotted by the ground troops. "What is your plan, Autobots?" he asked no one as he leaned in close to the screen, optics flicking to and fro. A brow ridge raised as he watched the data once more. The ARK zigged and zagged, twisting away from enemy fire and not firing a single shot.

They hadn't been racing to meet the Decepticons as everyone had been so quick to believe. They were running. "Intriguing," he whispered, "Very curious. Why would the Autobots have a ship in the air if it wasn't meant to be their city's protection?" It didn't fit. They had all, himself included, believed the Autobot tacticians had once again had Intel on the planned attack and had planned accordingly. If there was one thing the Autobots were annoyingly adept at, it was turning Decepticon plans in their favor.

But it seemed that this time, it had been chance. And that made him frown. If the Autobot ship had not been gunning for them, there would have been no way for Nemesis to fail in its mission, and Iacon would be theirs. He nearly growled at that. If Iacon had fallen, the war would practically have been won by now.

So what had happened to set back the great Flagship? This is where the data began to be inconclusive, not matching with other data. He pulled up his Seeker's AARs and the associated recordings. They had rushed to meet the ship. He knew they'd been called to action, and they had their orders: Take down any Air Defense that the Autobots could send out. The ARK would have been the most immediate threat. It may not be a War Class vessel, but it was lethal in its own right, and had been the cause of many setbacks through the course of their war.

There had been a total of fifteen Seekers on that mission. Granted, none of them were up to par with himself and his wing mates, but they were efficient and higher than most in skill. Their combined efforts would have easily over powered the Autobots. And yet, they hadn't, and he scowled. There had been a loss to his Division. Four wings were off lined that orn.

The ARK was also faster than he would have anticipated. The reports said that the Seekers were forced to fall back to the city, especially when weapons began to pick them off. It went against all of the data they had on the Autobots' ship. ARK was, previously, their last line of defense, and was used as such.

Once more, he paused, rereading the report. "The Seekers were forced to fall back to the battle in Iacon?" he felt his wings twitch. The ship had fled Iacon. But the Seekers would have called ahead to the surrounding territories for assistance, not fallen back. But there was no communiqué between any territories or bases. His Seekers had given up and returned to original orders. That wasn't right. His fliers knew better.

"Unless…" he trailed, fiery optics narrowed with suspicion. They widened not a moment later. There was no further report of the ARK. Anywhere. And the only reports he did not have access to were the Nemesis' own. He growled, startling the mechs around him. The ARK hadn't been trying to reach another Autobot base.

It had left Cybertron. Probably near the Autobots' claimed station, RION. That had somehow forced Nemesis to back down. And now, he was stuck. Past RION, there was no easy way to track the ARK. There were only a few manned stations out in space, but none that had a port large enough for the ARK, which was large enough to require a crew, to his recollect. If they had fled to space, then the ship was on a long distance mission. No stopping.

He would need to think very carefully if this vessel would catch up. His optics flicked around the Bridge. Grounders. The majority in here were Grounders. His wing mates were somewhere near Praxus, and wouldn't complete _that_ for another orn or two. His normal team had been in the attack on Iacon and were either in Medical, off lined, or scattered on the front lines.

If he had his normal mechs, this chase would be no problem, and they would find the ARK in no time at all. But these mechs? They hardly were qualified to fly the VICTORY, much less for a space mission. He glared, turning back to the view screen. There wasn't much of a choice, however. Unless the Autobots suddenly attacked, the moment he reported his findings to Lord Megatron, he'd be told to give chase. That he was Second in Command and was needed more predominantly on Cybertron wasn't relevant, as much as that annoyed him.

Making sure that the ARK couldn't turn weapons on them in a surprise attack: That was his given task, and that is what it would remain to be. He shook his helm, exasperated. Lord Megatron, for all of his glory, was not very good at this.

"Open a channel. Contact Megatron," he commanded. He didn't look at them. His voice was strong and commanding, a tinge of his annoyance sounding through. The view screen shifted, going dark for several moments. When a face appeared, it was that of Soundwave, not Megatron. Starscream's glare intensified a moment before vanishing. It would do no good to demand Megatron's attention from that one. "Soundwave. I have news to report to Lord Megatron."

Soundwave was a mech that Starscream was not fond of. Most weren't fond of him because he listened to everything they'd ever said. He knew secrets and would exploit them without care if Megatron called upon it. For Starscream, however, it was the reflective mask, and the lack of true speech.

Soundwave made no motion other than what had been dubbed the, "Go on", nod. Starscream frowned in annoyance. He was Second only to Megatron, yet that fact never seemed to be remembered by Soundwave. Nevertheless, "Upon reviewing the data from the Iacon Attack, I've discovered that the ARK was not traveling to any of the Autobot bases." There was no reaction from the violet mech. "They've gone to deep space."

There was a loud, "What?" and the entire Bridge gawked at the view screen. Even he had to blink, and quirk a brow ridge before realizing the sound hadn't come from Soundwave. An astro-second was all it took. The screen suddenly changed, Megatron's furious expression eliciting a squeak from somewhere in the room. Starscream shifted his claws behind his back, straightening more out of instinct than anything. "What do you mean they've "Gone to deep space"?"

"My Lord Megatron," the words spilled out easily, "It is as I've just told Soundwave. The ARK went to the atmosphere and is now somewhere out there," he vaguely waved in the direction, optics sliding upward as well. He couldn't help the dramatic emphasis.

"Follow after them, then, Starscream." Megatron's optics were narrow slits, which was terrifying, if not for the distance currently between them. "Do so. And don't return until you've brought that piece of rubbish down." The transmission cut out before Starscream could even begin to refute the order.

His wings flattened as he glared at the view screen. Comm. hubs were still experiencing trouble all over Cybertron from the hit in Praxus. He had no way to forward his position, nor his mission parameters, to his wing mates, nor the other Seekers. Effectively, Thundercracker was in command at this moment, and had no idea of it. It was not ideal, and it grated on the Flight Commander.

He turned, slowly, his glare still evident. "You heard the _Mighty_ Megatron," he didn't keep the sarcasm from his tone, his frustration and anger too high to combat in this moment. "Take us off planet. We are to bring down the ARK." Unfortunately, no matter how long it took.

_**S/N: Apparently Starscream wanted in. I hadn't planned his appearance, but, for the sake of things, I guess I kind of needed to. His character is the one I'll probably have the most trouble with.**_


	6. The Lost Battle

Everything was chaotic. Crazy. A mess of massive proportions. Not that he couldn't handle it. But this was by far, the most bizarre of situations. Thank Primus there was still time to plan.

"And you are absolutely positive?" he asked to verify. He knew that the head of Science and Engineering wouldn't have sent anyone with this notification without checking or triple checking the accuracy of the information. Or, so he hoped.

"Yes sir-gah, Commander. Sorry, commander," the tiny mech only came up to Red Alert's chest plates, and was a light plated frame. Definitely a science 'bot, as far as stereotypes went. But that was not the important focus.

It was, instead, the information on the data pad said science 'bot had handed him a score of klicks previous, that should be the sole, attention grabbing concept. And boy was it so. He looked back down at the still circulating data. He grew more anxious. It was still scrolling information. There was no doubting the immediate severity of the situation. He understood maybe a tenth of the information, but it was enough.

"Red, we can't avoid this anymore," the other 'bot with them said, reserved. The Commander frowned more on reflex than anything. That one was large, in that he was tall. He wasn't someone Red Alert was familiar with, but then, it stood to reason that perhaps he wasn't familiar with Address Procedure as they should be. And oversight that would need to be corrected at some point when he didn't have such catastrophic prophesies suddenly weighing on his spark.

"You are correct. Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he tried not to notice how his own voice stuttered in a strange way. Who would he need to inform first? Surely they'd be dealing with the War on top of this, and their resources, as had been previously indicated, were already taxed beyond limits. That was the reason behind the ARK leaving in the first place. Had they really miscalculated the situation this badly? He almost groaned.

The head of Tactical would need to be the first. Well, actually, probably all the heads. He'd have to call an Officer's Meeting. They would figure out how to inform the others as they went. As well as getting word out to the ARK. If things were as bad as what he'd just read, then, should the Voyagers ever return home, it may be too late. There might not be a Home to even return to.

The two before him stared for a few more klicks, waiting for any form of further instruction. But he didn't acknowledge them. He just stared at the data pad, watching the _still_ scrolling figures. They took the dismissal for what it was, and left silently.

Panic and anger had to be kept quiet. There would be many who would oppose the conclusion that haunted his mind. Perhaps in a violent manner. Perhaps even his own officers. Truthfully, he couldn't really blame them should it be so. The very notion had his tanks rumbling unpleasantly as it was.

What would Optimus Prime have them do? What sort of plan would Prowl already be putting into motion that had elements so crazy that there was no chance they could fail simply because the combined genius of Jazz and Prowl out did the entire Autobot Tactical team? How would Ironhide be readying the troops for Exodus and the firefight that would surely ensue?

Did the Decepticons know about Cybertron's failing? Did they care, even if they did? He felt his spark flutter. The war was lost. Whether either side realized it or even understood it. This was the end. Both Autobots and Decepticons had failed, and lost. But the War would not just simply end. And even if the Autobots fled the planet and the Decepticons followed, it would continue just as it had for many vorns.

He shook himself. This would not end well. No, it wouldn't. But he didn't have time to dwell. There was still time to plan and plot. He'd call the meeting soon, and impart the information he'd been given, just as he should. They would debate what to do.

But for now, he had to speak with the head of Special Ops for a mission debrief. The war wouldn't allow to take the back seat, not even for a few klicks.

_**S/N : Probably my shortest chapter. Red was fun to write, really. Although he doesn't have some of the quirks I'd initially wrote him with… oh well. It was fun while it lasted. **_

_**Please, if you find any mistakes or have any pointers you want to give, feel free. I am relatively out of my comfort level with War Front, as, there is so much going on, and so many different characters.**_


End file.
